


Not Quite My Shade

by vegancarbs247



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006), Whiplash (2014)
Genre: F/F, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegancarbs247/pseuds/vegancarbs247
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrea's first day at Runway goes a bit differently than she expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite My Shade

**Author's Note:**

> I watched The Devil Wears Prada recently and thought- yes, but more like Whiplash please.

“We have a new intern today, Andrea Sachs, only 22 years old. Isn’t she cute?”

 

Most of the Runway design team didn’t dare speak up or even meet Andy’s eyes, but some of the braver ones managed some faux friendly smiles and meek nods in agreement.

 

Andy sensed something was wrong with Ms. Priestly’s use of the odd descriptor. Andy certainly didn’t feel cute. Compared to the svelte models and fashionable men she’d seen in the office, she felt completely out of place. Even the glamorous receptionist looked as though she hadn’t eaten in days. She began to regret the simple button down and tasteful blue sweater she had chosen to wear, even if they were some of the nicest things in her closet.

 

Still, Andy tried to smile, and after the awkward introduction, she hurried into the showroom after Miranda, entering the room just as a frazzled designer held up two belts to Miranda’s discerning eyes.

 

“They’re so different,” the designer lamented, and Andy couldn’t hold back a snort. All eyes darted to Andy.

 

Miranda turned slowly, fixing her steely gaze on Andy. “Something funny?”

 

Andy stuttered as shame washed over her, yet she couldn’t resist explaining herself. The two belts really did look exactly the same.

 

Miranda began walking towards her, and Andy tried to backtrack. “I mean, I’m still learning about this stuff…” She began.

 

“S- Stuff?” Miranda mocked her stutter.

 

Before she could say another word in her defense, Andy felt her head snap to the side, her note pad and pen clattering to the floor.

 

“What color is this?” Miranda snarled, gripping Andy’s sweater in her hand, her face dangerously close to Andy’s.

 

“B- Blue? I don’t know!” Andy choked out, still in shock from the slap.

 

“You don’t know? Look at me!” Miranda slapped her again, and Andy held back tears as she tried to meet her gaze.

 

“What color is this?”

 

“Blue,” Andy stated, trying to keep her voice calm, trying to keep eyes from the floor.

 

“So you _aren’t_ colorblind!” Miranda yelled. “What you don’t know,” she began with an unsettlingly calm tone, “is that this sweater is not just blue, it’s not turquoise, it’s not lapis, it’s actually cerulean. Cerulean quickly filtered down among many designers until it reached the discount store for fat-ass fag hags you undoubtedly grabbed it from.”

 

Andy felt her eyes water in humiliation.

 

“Now, are you going to insult the choices of my fashion team, or are you going to work for me and _my_ fucking magazine?” Miranda bellowed.

 

“I’m going to work for you, ma’am,” Andy managed, trying to keep from crying even as she felt her shoulders tremble.

 

“Oh my dear God,” Miranda sighed. “Please, someone—Emily— please get her out of my sight.”

 

Emily swooped in, more graceful in her four inch heels than Andy would ever be, patted her shoulder in a cursory show of sympathy, and escorted her from the showroom.

 

Andy rushed to the bathroom, needing to get away from the designers and stylists and assistants and models and Miranda fucking Priestly before she could let herself really cry. She hurried into the stall, sat down to wipe her face, and was horrified to find herself damp in another place as well. Her cheeks blazed, and as she freshened up, she vowed to herself to be the best intern Runway—and Ms. Priestly— had ever seen, no matter what the cost.

 

 

 

 


End file.
